A Thief Called Death
by Shire cat
Summary: The Ring doesn't always speak to him with the same voice.


Yes, after four years of having a Lord of the Rings-related Penname, I have finally posted a Lord of the Rings story. It was going to be a drabble and then it turned into this.

Title from _The Canterbury Tales_.

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Sometimes the ring was a maiden. Not an earthy and scrubbed wholesome Shire-lass but a seductress. A lady. As hypnotic as Galadriel and as sensuous as Goldberry. Shining and glowing, in his dreams and in voice. Coaxing and cajoling as the Southlings' Harem girls he had read of once, though he couldn't recall where. Books and comforts like tree shade and soft beds seemed like details of an illusion or dream that had never been real but she promised to give it all to him and more, satisfaction like he'd never dreamed. The love of his parents, Bilbo's pride, the acceptance and loyalty of the Shire folk inside his circle of friends and out, the courtship of a lass bright enough to discuss with and silly enough to laugh with… But also universal love; renown and fame. _Hail the great scholar: Frodo the Wise…_In the years before The Quest she had called to him occasionally, chastising him for looking back at a lass, promising she herself to be better. But she drew from him, sucking away his lust, both innocent and not, sense of love, and virility.

Sometimes the ring was a man. A lord, great and terrible. A fighter and soldier who was now a ruler. Before The Quest it was his voice Frodo would hear criticising the Shire-folk for their pettiness and attempt at isolation just a _little _more harshly than Frodo himself would have. He showed Frodo the control he could have; lord of the Shire and beyond. Lord of hobbits and men, dwarves and elves. One total and absolute kingdom, with him at the head. Servants who would do his bidding with a smile, out of love and trust rather than duty or obligation. A queen who would be sycophant to him alone though she might be iron in every other way. He alone drove away the evil, the darkness and was the final authority on _every _matter,_ every_transgression in his realm. And he was always right. He didn't need the ring to do so either; the lord showed him casting the ring away once he had his power, destroying it with contempt. The ring was merely a stepping stone to place him where he'd always belonged. The lord pulled away his physical strength and health, promising he'd get them back, better than before if he took the ring. It was because of him that Frodo was wearying ever more easily and losing his appetite.

Sometimes the ring had the voice of Sam, telling him of all the good he could do for his friends with it. The ring could help Sam and Rosie have a comfortable life together, he knew how Sam had always fancied her, give them children, Sam a position of prestige as he'd always deserved. How he could make the reigns of Merry and Pippin over their respective lands prosperous and successful, never a drought or famine, and continue their lines with pride. He could stop the raping of the Shire, courtesy of his cousin, that the ring had showed him was occurring; see the people of his country returned to comfort and safety and never out of it again. This preyed on his gaiety and light, leaving him with a permanent sense of guilt and dread.

Sometimes it was the voice of Bilbo with whispers of his parents, telling how he could honor his family with the ring, make them proud. Before The Quest they suggested he could bring Bilbo back; now, that he could repair Bilbo's now failing health, even make him live forever. They even hinted that he could bring _them_ back, but blunted his good memories and recalled sensations, leaving him with only trauma and pain.

Sometimes the voice he heard was his own. Angry and contemptuous, condemning him._How can you even entertain these thoughts? How dare you believe that you can yield it when the mightiest of men and elves cannot?! You think you will resist corruption? You are already corrupted! A danger to the Shire, the Realm and to Sam. You have brought destruction already to the Shire and to Bree. Men and elves as well as your own kin are dying in battles fought to keep the orcs from finding _you_! Sam's half-alive from giving you food and water you can rarely keep and trying to keep you on your feet. Put it on and give yourself to him: you are single-handedly destroying Middle Earth more than he will._ This voice haunted his nightmares and stray thoughts most often. When The Eye didn't. When he was more lucid it also made him recall another individual he met recently who talked to himself in two voices, which frightened him.

Sometimes the Ring would speak in one voice for days and then switch. Sometimes it would use a different one each day on a rotating basis, but he'd never been able to distinguish a pattern. Initially it'd only spoken to him monthly, then weekly, then daily. As he'd gotten ever closer to Mordor they'd spoken more frequently, talking on the same days and even talking over each other. As he stood at the top of Mount Doom, the cacophony roared in his ears and in his head, Sam's "Destroy it!" was overpowered by

"-love-"

"-power-"

"-strength-"

"they'll have everything they could ever want"

"you'll have everything you could want"

"you're not worthy"

_Destroy it._

_Yes. _

_Then he would have peace…_

"The Ring is mine!"


End file.
